


Just For Kicks

by wefellasangels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:33:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wefellasangels/pseuds/wefellasangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>evil!TeamFreeWill as band of serial killers - and the reader is their current victim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just For Kicks

**Author's Note:**

> *Planning to rewrite this in the future.

“Hey…hey….wake up…”

You feel a hand softly hitting your cheek, attempting to rouse you from unconsciousness. 

Then ice water is poured over your head. 

“Mmmggggghhhh!” You’re fully awake and struggling to scream, but there’s duct tape over your mouth. 

“Hey! There we go! Mornin’, sunshine!” A pair of solid black eyes meet your gaze. Standing with his arms folded across his chest, the man smiles at you and the black in his eyes recede, revealing two deep pools of green. 

You try to scream again and move away from the strange man, but you’ve been tied to a chair. 

You hear laughter and another man walks around from behind you, holding a bucket that probably contained the ice water. He is extremely tall and from the expression on his face, you instinctively know that he’s the human embodiment of the Venus flytrap. 

“Nice house you’ve got here,” a third man says. He stands by the kitchen sink wearing a black suit with a blue tie. “We’ll do our best not to…ruin any of the furniture or carpeting…” A thin stream of black…something, leaks from his right eye. He wipes it with the back of his hand and grins, sending chills up your spine as you’re reminded of the big bad wolf. 

They’re going to kill me, you think. These are the serial killers that were never caught and now they’re going to add me to their list of victims. And even though the FBI weren’t able to get any photos of the trio – or even their vehicle – you remembering hearing on the news how they only operated during the day. And here they were, in your kitchen, at noon on a Sunday. 

“So.” The black-eyed man claps his hands together once. “Shall we get started?” He smiles again and your heart-rate increases. While he’s walking behind you, the tall man pulls a knife from his coat pocket. 

“Dean, catch,” and he tosses the knife. Dean catches the blade and cuts the ropes securing you to the chair. Meanwhile, the man in the suit walks up to you and rips the tape off your mouth. You suppress a scream under a sharp intake of air and glare into the man’s blue eyes. He laughs at you, the sound maniacal and hollow. He grips you tight by the arm and makes you stand up. The sudden movement causes a rush of air to flow over your wet body and you beginning shivering violently. 

“Looks like our new friend is a bit chilly,” the man in the suit comments.

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” says the tall man. 

Dean chuckles. “No we can’t, Sam. Cas – let’s get our friend warm. Wouldn’t want to you to catch anything, right sunshine?” Dean winks at you and your heart skips three beats in panic. 

“Okay. Stand…right here,” Cas instructs, positioning you in front of the fridge. “Don’t move.” He puts his face right in yours, the black substance leaking from his right ear this time. “This is going to be so much fun…” he laughs. Then he turns around and walks away. 

Cas and Dean leave the kitchen, both of them looking over their shoulders at least once to smirk at you. Sam stands about six feet away from you, hands in his pockets, giving you a condescendingly kind smile. 

“Don’t worry,” he says softly. “We’ll get you out in time.” He winks and follows the other two out of the kitchen.

Get me out in time? You shiver again – whether from cold or fear or both or niether – and begin pacing. You walk two feet to your left and feel something wet soak through the bottom of your sock. You bend down and touch the floor where your foot was. The liquid is slippery on your fingers and when you bring it to your nose to smell, your heart drops into your stomach. 

Gasoline. 

You hear a match strike and a look up to see a trail of fire advancing toward you. The gasoline was poured in lines over the floor, so the inferno approaches like a serpent.   
“No, no, NO!” you scream. You can’t determine exactly where the men had soaked the floor – the accelerant could be anywhere; running feels useless. And so this is it. This is how you’re going to die. You’re sure of it. 

The fire comes straight for you and you can already feel your skin blistering. You take a few steps back until your back is pressed against the fridge again. The flames follow the trail of gas a few inches in front of you before they go around you and begin consuming the rest of the kitchen. You stand, back pressed against the refrigerator, behind a wall of fire that can’t reach you – your small area is not soaked with gas. Even so, the heat continues to burn your skin and you feel your skin peeling. The smoke forces its way into your lungs and you attempt to cough it back out. Your vision fails and you fall into unconsciousness once more. 

…

There are first and second degree burns covering every inch of your body, but Dean tilts you head back and holds a rag over your face. Sam seemingly has a never-ending supply of water and pours it over the rag, preventing you from breathing properly. Your limbs are not restrained, so you kick and try to push Dean’s hand away or knock the container of water out of Sam’s hand, but they’re too strong and you’re choking on water and ill-attempted pleas for mercy.

You can hear Cas and Sam laughing. “Now this is a party!” Cas exclaims. While the others continue to drown you, Cas begins tickling your abdomen. 

It’s cruel to think that in your last moments before death, your executioners had you laughing. 

…

“Dean, would you like to say a few words?”

Dean’s eyes flash black. “No…think I’m good.”

“How about you, Sam?”

“Ha, no thanks.”

“Perfect. Let’s move this along then!”

That’s the conversation you wake up to. After blacking out from the waterboarding, you conclude that one of them must have carried you to your bed. Your pillow feels comforting beneath your head. You grab a fistful of your blanket even though your damaged skin protests in pain.   
“Anything you’d like to say?” Sam asks.

You open your mouth to say something – plead maybe, or just say ‘no’ one last time. But instead the words catch in your throat and a sob escapes. 

Sam sighs. “Well…guess not.” He pulls a gun out from his waistband.

“No, wait, please – “ And there are three bullets lodged in your brain.

…

“Goodnight, sunshine,” Dean says. 

Sam scoffs. “Don’t get too sentimental, man.”

“Don’t worry about me, Sammy – you’re heartless enough for the three of us.” Dean claps a hand on his brother’s arm. “Let’s get this place cleaned up!”

Cas goes downstairs to get the rest of the gasoline. He goes from room to room and douses as much surface area as he can. 

Sam searches the house for places where money could be kept. He finds several credit cards and four hundred seventy-three dollars in cash in a drawer in the victim’s bedroom. He finds a safe hidden in the closet of the guest bedroom and takes the whole thing. The three of them would open it later.

Dean smokes out of his body and does a sweep of the entire house, making sure nothing of theirs is left behind. He wipes their fingerprints off all surfaces and eliminates any footprints made by their shoes. He then returns to his body and reconvenes with the other two. 

“Are we in the clear, then?” Sam inquires.

“We’re good,” Dean assures him. He turns to Cas. “You wanna light ‘er up?”

Cas grins and pulls out a match book. “Meet you guys in the car.”

Five minutes later, Cas slides into the back seat of the Impala. 

“We’re good to go.”

“No one saw you, right?” Sam asks tensely. 

“Of course not,” he insists, wiping goo from underneath his nose. “Let’s go. Drive!”

Dean puts the car in drive and they take off. In the rearview mirror, he watches as the house goes up in flames, their first arson a success. 

“We did pretty good on time,” Sam comments. “Two hours? That’s gotta be a record.”

“We can beat that – easy,” Cas says confidently.

“Where to next?” Dean asks.

Sam smiles. “Well…we haven’t seen Lisa and Ben in while.”


End file.
